


Slip

by kindlystrawberry



Category: Rune Factory 4
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kissing, Late at Night, Lime, Making Out, Sleep Deprivation, Steamy, arthur takes off that giant ass coat, just a bit, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindlystrawberry/pseuds/kindlystrawberry
Summary: During a stifling Summer heat, Arthur's had a particularly busy week-- even for his own standards. What he doesn't expect is a late-night visit from Frey to convince him to go to sleep.
Relationships: Arthur/Frey (Rune Factory)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest. When I was a young teen and first played RF4, I didn't like Arthur romantically at all. Playing now as an adult, tho, I find myself much more interested in this politely hide your feelings hard-working man. So this fic was very self-indulgent, and... rather lime-y, if people still use those terms. I'm very sorry to my younger self.

Even Arthur had a limit to how far he would go for the sake of formality; it was a very long limit, but a limit nonetheless.

While he prefered cold weather he had never particularly minded the heat— at least, not enough to complain. Having grown up surrounded by court politics and royal expectations, he was quite used to working under stiff, thick layers no matter how temperatures rose, and even now in Selphia he kept up that practice, even if it was more so for the sake of his business dealings. 

Today— or rather, tonight, however, he had had enough. During one of his usual long nights of work, which being particularly complicated this week did not need the extra difficulty of him being drenched in sticky sweat and chaffed by fabric, Arthur had succumbed to the increasing hysteric feeling of sweaty claustrophobia and had removed most of his layers.

* * *

“Yeah, we definitely need to re-stock on milk. Ice cream’s been popular lately.” Dylas looked down at his notes. His handwriting was terrible, but Porcoline’s was so elaborately looped and winded that it was even  _ more  _ difficult to read than his— Margaret was the only person he knew that could make it out. 

“Oh yes! I’ve  _ loved  _ the ice cream. Especially the new flavors we’ve been trying.”

“Those are for the _customers,_ you know, not you.”

Something thunked downstairs. Arthur must be bringing in a heavy shipment again.

“Right, yes, but of course.”

Dylas rolled his eyes. Some things would never change, but he was getting much better at snatching dishes out of Porcoline’s hands before he could eat them all. It was a great work out, anyway.

“I also think--” Porcoline started again but was quickly stunned to silence. 

“Porco?” Dylas raised an eyebrow at him, but Porcoline was staring at something behind the waiter like he had seen a ghost. Dylas turned in his chair. His jaw almost went slack.

Arthur, slightly pink-faced, was coming loudly up the stairs— in nothing but his chemise, sleeves rolled up to the shoulders and barely still tucked into the green fabric of his trousers. Dylas hadn’t even realized that was what the layers underneath his coat looked like. 

As if nothing in the world was wrong, and as if he wasn’t stomping up loud enough to mimic an Elefun, Arthur gave a polite nod of his head and said “Good evening, gentleman,” before stepping into his room.

Dylas and Porcoline shared a look. 

They had lived together for over a year now, and Dylas had barely ever even seen the man in his pajamas. Things clattered and slammed within his room.

A moment later Arthur came out again, dragging a gigantic fan behind him. What was most terrifying about the entire scenario was the perfectly even, polite expression that Arthur always had was still there.

“Do-” Dylas cleared his throat. “Do you want some help there?”

“No, I’m quite alright, though thank you for the offer.”

Each time he descended a step the machine thumped against the stairs.

“R-right.”

The two men at the table shared another look.

* * *

Arthur finished his sentence and glanced up at his office clock with a sigh. Nearly 1 AM. With most of his layers of clothing thrown at the couch and the fan pointed at his desk, his body’s temperature equilibrium had been restored enough that he could fall back into his work just as he was used to doing. Before the blond realized it time had slipped away from him. He sat back against his seat, rubbing his temples.

While he usually welcomed challenges, this week in particular had been a stressful and busy one, even for his own standards; and it wasn’t even over yet. 

A few more hours, and then he’d retire to bed.

With that thought in mind, he picked up his pen and went back to writing. Absently, he felt pleased by the way the fan’s breeze felt against his forearms. 

In what couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes he heard a timid knock at his office door. Arthur stood up and made his way towards it. Who could that be, at this hour? Surely it wasn’t Margaret— if she needed something she would have let herself into the restaurant side with her key. But who else would— 

“Hello.”

Oh.

He blinked a few times, checking to make sure this wasn’t some kind of desire-driven illusion conjured by his tired brain. 

“ _ Heyyy _ .”

It was only at her (admittedly adorable) whine that Arthur realized his hand had moved at its own accord to pinch Frey’s cheek. Through his fingers felt the warmth rise to her face before he saw it.

“Sorry,” he said, moving his hand to cup her face instead. His thumb traced gentle, reverent patterns against her cheekbone. “You look so beautiful in the moonlight, I had to make sure you weren’t a dream.”

She mumbled something he didn’t quite catch about him being cheesy, but fluttered her eyes closed and nuzzled her nose happily into his hand. His heart felt like it could stop right then and there.

Her eyes opened again, and trailed down his appearance. “You’re dressed differently.”

Finally, remembering the hour, he came back to himself. 

“Yes— I found that it became far too warm in here. Speaking of, please, do step inside, dearest. I have some tea I brewed cooling, would you like some?” 

“Oh- yes please.”

He moved away, hurrying to usher Frey inside and close the door before stepping back to the small refrigerator he kept next to his desk, sparing her worried glances here and there. She was dressed differently as well. Rather than her usual attire she simply had on a large, light brown robe. 

“What brings you here at this late hour? Is something wrong?

“Oh, no, nothing’s wrong,” she said, still fidgeting in the doorway next to the hat rack. “Do you mind if I take off my coat?”

He was sitting on the sofa, now, pouring out the iced tea into the china cups that Frey had once noted as her favorite. “No, of course not, go ahead. You must be very warm in that.”

There. Two cups on a platter, filled with iced tea. He was glad he had chosen to make the non-caffeinated kind as well— he wasn’t planning on going back to bed for a while, but at least Frey could when she went home. He suddenly felt lighter than he had all week, and if the small smile that refused to leave his lips was any indication, he knew the joy he felt was all due to his present company. She had always had many effects on him, the least of which was her uncanny ability to calm him with simply her presence. 

She was standing in front of the sofa now.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?” He looked up at her call as naturally as a fish following a river. Then he blinked. Then his heart  _ fully  _ stopped.

Frey had taken off the robe she had come in with, leaving her only in a thin off-white night slip that clung tantalizingly at her small waist before trailing off to hang a few inches below her hips. There was a small red bow at the center of her neckline, which hung low enough at a square cut off to expose the elegant plane of her collarbone. Her skin seemed to glow against the slight, soft shine of the fabric, and when she shifted the fabric against her stomach moved in ripples in a way that made any rational part left of Arthur’s brain entirely short circuit. 

“Um—” she said.

At her noise his eyes immediately shot up to her face, and Arthur realized embarrassingly late that his face had gone completely slack. He struggled to try and act normal, but he was having trouble focusing on anything else.

“If you don’t like it I could—” she continued, “Uh— you know, I should just go change—”

She started to step away, and before he was aware of what he was doing Arthur gasped out a breathy “No-” as his hands shot out to grab at her hips.

She looked down at him in surprise, her face deepening to a darker shade of pink. He was sure his face was even warmer, as he felt the tips of his ears buzz.

“Ah— I mean,” he cleared his throat, trying yet again to come back to himself. “If-If you’re uncomfortable then, of course, go change, but- ah. I think you look—” what could he possibly stay? Gorgeous? Stunning? Something straight out of his dreams? “Beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

Frey took a step closer to him. Her smile had turned unbearably fond, the kindness he had initially fallen in love with shining through her eyes so happily that he felt he could be blinded by the mere sight. He nodded— probably a bit too vigorously because soon she was covering her giggle behind a hand. As her chest moved with the laugh he found himself staring at the movement of the fabric once again, how it pooled and folded around her figure which was at once delicate and strong. 

“Arthur.” As if in a daze, his head slowly moved back up to meet her gaze. Her hand moved to cup his cheek. “You’re lost in thought again.”

“Am I?” He studied her face. Arthur’s gaze felt heavy, half-lidded, and he wasn’t sure if it was the late hour, or the toll of the stressful week, or the warmth that was spreading its way through his chest despite his lack of usually layered clothes, but he found that the filter that usually kept such a tight grip over his thoughts was slipping. Her eyes only looked more green as they rounded the longer he looked into them. His cheeks still a deep pink, Arthur’s voice came out in a dreamy murmur— if he was more aware of himself he’d note how foreign he sounded to his own ears. “You’re so beautiful I find I can’t focus on anything else.”

The flush of her face crawled to her ears.

“Heavens, I love that face.”

She only deepened in color.

The hand at his cheek had moved to run through his hair, and Arthur found his head naturally leaning into her touch. With his sense of self-control lowered, he felt like he could melt against her hand. 

“You look tired,” she said softly. “Why don’t you go to bed upstairs?”

“Ah—” his hands gripped tighter at where they still were against her hips, fingers digging slightly into the fabric. “Don’t— don’t go just yet, please.” 

He wasn’t sure who was moving towards whom but they were gravitating towards each other until Frey fell (gracefully, somehow— no one could ever say she wasn’t a princess despite it all) against his lap, her legs straddling his and his hands moving to rest at her thighs; the softness of her skin contrasted against the undeniable muscle of her legs in the way that he always loved, but that drove him particularly excited at the moment.

“You need to sleep,” she tried to chide, but her eyes were still so fond that her tone held no bite behind it, even more so now that it was mere inches from his own face. 

“Just a few more minutes.” When she raised an eyebrow at him he added, “I promise to sleep after.” 

Frey’s hands laid against his chest, and through the thin fabric of his chemise he could feel the warmth radiating off of her— this heat Arthur didn’t mind in the slightest. Her fingertips were just resting at the open part of his collar, tantalizingly close to touching the skin around his collarbone, and it felt like every cell in him was honed in on her touch, trying to get closer, closer. They were drifting. Their faces were only an inch apart now.

Arthur was pretty sure she was going to be the death of him, and if so it would be a blissful one. 

Eyes slipping shut his lips melded against hers, and Frey’s parted soft and warm. Every part of him that was touching her felt like it had been brought to life with a live wire, each point acutely aware of how she was pressed against him. 

Arthur considered himself a man with an ample amount of self-control, so it was terrifying just how easily he could lose himself in her embrace.

“What- what about your work?” She asked half-heartedly, words slipping out as their lips parted, only to move back together again, slow and savoring. Her hands against his chest lifted and fell with the rhythm of his deepening breaths, and he didn’t realize he was arching subconsciously into her touch.

“I don’t care,” he mumbled fervently against her lips, as if not entirely aware of himself, everything in him succumbed to the indescribable pleasure of how her soft lips moved between his. Frey nearly gasped, and he swallowed the noise in another, deeper kiss. She shifted against, body pressing closer, closer, her chest lined up against his as one of Arthur’s hands moved up to clutch at the small of her back. 

When her thighs rode up against his legs so she could press closer Arthur let out a breathy, needy noise that made Frey gasp in pleasure. She moved her lips again with renewed hunger, capturing his bottom lip between hers, the sensation making him lean forward to press closer himself, not entirely aware that his hands were digging into the fabric at her back and at the plush, muscular flesh at her leg in a desperate attempt to find an outlet for all the heat flooding him. 

Never once parting from him her hands moved, one slipping into the soft locks of Arthur’s hair— tugging gently at his scalp and driving his senses wild, forcing more breathy, low noises out of him— and the other slipping under the loose collar of his chemise, dragging down against his bare chest as it moved up and down with each breath, becoming progressively more ragged. 

In a deeper kiss he pushed her lips apart, sliding his tongue to trace at her lip, causing her to let out soft, whiny moans in the brief moments that their lips parted between their kisses, each noise chipping away at whatever was left of his mind as it melted to her touch.

He felt the undeniable, slightly mad urge to pick her up and push her against the nearest flat surface— table, desk, wall, Arthur couldn’t really think that far ahead at the moment— but then she leaned into him more, pushing him into the cushions of the couch and he found the way that Frey was draped against him, knees squeezing needily from where they rested around him was already enough to drive him crazy. 

The soft, dull edges of her nails dug into where they rested under his shirt on his bare chest and scraped just slightly, the rare sensation of her skin on his enough to make him let out a deep, rumbling moan that was foreign to him between her lips. Any time Arthur made a noise Frey seemed to only grow more determined, melding her body against his as the hand in his hair dragged down against his neck, where the heat of his skin was flushed and feverish. 

He shifted so that the length of his torso was hovering over her like a question mark, asking for something, something, still pressed against hers, and she was leaning back against the weight of his hand at her back, Arthur’s other hand moving to cradle the soft hair at the back of her head so that he could deepen the kiss. Her hand was now sandwiched in between their chests and moving downwards, mapping out his skin like she was up on the airship discovering new land. 

When he kissed her particularly deeply she let out a gasping moan and rocked her hips forward against his, causing him to groan out in turn.

The heat rushed down to the now tightening fabric of his pants— thank gods they were loose to begin with— and he was barely aware of himself as he let out a gasped, “Frey.” 

He moved his lips from hers to her jaw, trailing upwards to breathe hotly in her ear— making her moan and rock against the firm, hard length that pressed between her legs, in a way that sent a dangerous lance of pleasure through him so that he gasp against her skin between trailing kisses down her neck.

“Arthur…” she responded in a needy whimper, and he was pretty sure that he could spend the rest of eternity here, against the loving embrace of the person he held most dearly in the world, but in that moment through the haze of desire he managed to hear a set of heavy footsteps.

In a quick, reflexive set of movements that were only half-panic, half-logical, Arthur flipped so that he left Frey sitting on the couch as he stood, grabbed his long-discarded coat and threw it on her, and turned so that his back was facing the staircase while it looked like he was sorting through the stacks of paper on top of one of his filing cabinets. 

“Arthur, man, are you— oh, hey, Frey.”

Arthur loved the people of Selphia more than he could ever express, but at the moment he could have killed Dylas. 

Pushing down a very unbecoming amount of annoyance Arthur looked over his shoulder with an air of polite nonchalance, hoping to the Native Dragons above that his face was more composed than the staccato rhythm that his heart was still beating out.

“Good evening, Dylas. What’s the matter?”

Frey was sipping at one of the now lukewarm teacups, appearing casual but no doubt trying to hide her still pink cheeks between the curtain of her pigtails and the cup. She held Arthur’s coat tightly around herself.

Dylas was still looking down in surprise at Frey when his eyes moved up to meet Arthur’s. “Oh, nothing I was just— checking if you were still working.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Arthur said, knowing that complimenting Dylas was the best way to get him flustered enough to leave.

“Oh- uh, you know how Meg and Porco worry about you when you don’t sleep. But— I didn’t know Frey came over. Aren’t you warm in that?” He nudged his chin towards Arthur’s coat and cloak, looking suspicious.

Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Frey stepped in smoothly. 

“Actually I just came back from the Sech’s empire to talk to Arthur, and he was kind enough to lend me this so I’d warm-up.” 

Arthur couldn’t help the small smile on his lips. Selphia’s acting-princess was probably the kindest, most honest person he had ever met, but even still she was bright and quick on her feet in a sticky situation. Her eyes flicked towards him and then away again, as if she still couldn’t quite manage to look at him without her cheeks reddening.

“He also poured some iced tea,” she added.

Dylas nodded as if he understood, and he looked as if he was about to say something else when Frey flashed him one of her brightest smiles. That did the trick— no one could withstand the sheer brilliance of Frey’s smile; as her boyfriend, Arthur knew this all too well.

The blond watched, slightly amused and ever so slightly jealous (a ridiculous feeling, really, which he decided to chalk up to the heat and ignore) as Dylas’ whole face turned pink. 

The man quickly turned away, going back up the steps as he stuttered out “R-right, well, good- good night you two, make sure to sleep soon or whatever.”

It was only when they heard the click of a closing door that the two of them slumped out a relieved sigh, and Arthur dropped whatever paper he had been pretending to look through to sit down at Frey’s side on the couch.

“It’s really sweet when they worry about you,” she said with a soft giggle that made Arthur’s heart feel bubbly.

“Mm.” He raised his hand to cup her cheek again, finding her impossibly adorable. He was sure that the overwhelming fondness in her green eyes mirrored his.  
“I worry about you too, you know,” she added.

“Do you?”

“Of course.” She let out a huff, as if annoyed he’d even ask. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t laugh— I do! I know you’ve been really busy, but Meg and Porco told me you’ve barely slept at all this week.” He traced his thumb against her cheek. “I’m upset I hadn’t notice,” She mumbled, casting her eyes towards her knees.

He moved his hand gently so that she would look up at him again. “You’ve been even busier than I have, dear, going through the Sech’s territory and all. I can only hope to be half as impressive as you are.”

She huffed again, this time out of embarrassment. “You still need to sleep, though.”

Now it was his turn to look a bit bashful, gaze moving to focus on where his thumb trailed against her cheek, voice soft as he admitted, “I suppose I may have been neglecting taking care of myself, recently.”

When Arthur looked at her again her eyes were so earnest, full of concern for him but also  _ love,  _ and kindness, and empathy. His heart, which had finally calmed down to mostly regular, beat nervously against his chest again.

“Go on home,” he said gently, “and I promise to go to bed just as soon as I put away my things, okay? Or, would you like me to walk you?”

To his surprise, Frey’s cheeks burned scarlet against his hand again. She avoided his gaze and mumbled something.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he said softly.

Her cheeks burned brighter. As if overcompensating, she spoke a bit too loudly this time. “Or maybe I could just stay here and sleep with you. Er—” His face went endearingly crimson, and her eyes shot up to his, alarmed. “I-I mean, sleep next to you. In your bed. You know. Um. Only if you want.” 

She would actually, truly be the death of him.

Face burning hot enough to eclipse the earlier heat he had suffered from, Arthur dropped his head down against her shoulder, momentarily unable to cope. A few moments passed in silence.

“A-arthur?” Her breath rustled his hair. She moved to gently comb her fingers through it.

He moved just enough to look up at her, chin still resting on her shoulder. His eyes were so close to hers that her face was blurry, but from here he could focus on the light, breezy green of her eyes.

“You always know how to get me,” he mumbled. She blinked a few times at him. “I would love for you to stay.”

“Really?”

He sat back, fondly holding her shoulders. “I would love nothing more.” 

She smiled, soft and shy and impossibly bright. 

He stood and offered his hand— not that she needed it in the slightest, but at this point it was a polite habit (and his near-addiction to the feeling of holding her small, elegant and calloused hand in his). She took it at stood in front of him, his coat still hanging off of her shoulders. 

“I do need to clean up my desk, though. I promise I’ll be done in just a few minutes, if you’ll wait for me upstairs?” 

“Do you want help?” 

He was already moving away the tray with their barely touched tea set. “No, please don’t worry. I promise it’s just stacking up some papers. I’ll be done very soon.”

She nodded. He turned to go take the cups away when she called out once more. 

“Darling?”

He turned, and found that she was much closer than he had expected. She planted a single kiss against his cheek. “I’ll be up here!” She called as she quickly climbed the stairs.

Arthur dumbly raised a finger to where she had kissed him, the spot still warm and his mind momentarily blank.

* * *

True to his word, only a few minutes had passed before he was walking up the dark stairway towards his room. Mindful of the thin walls and the other two men on the floor, he lightened his steps and opened his door with a soft click. 

He only took one step towards his dresser when he noticed Frey wasn’t sitting at his desk or on his bed as he had expected. Despite Selphia’s heat she was laying on top of his sheets, curled up on her side with his coat still around her and her nose pressed up against the collar. Her long lashes were fluttering softly against her cheek, and occasionally the fabric of his cloak would rustle as she breathed evenly.

Oh.

While she was undeniable muscular, Frey was still of a petite frame. Arthur knew that he himself had a rather skinny build, but because of this he hadn’t expected his coat to look so huge around her, and hadn’t noticed when she had worn it earlier how the sleeves ran far past her fingertips, how the stiff collar seemed the dwarf her torso as she kept it pulled around her. It followed the length of her slightly curled legs, resting over her feet so all Arthur could see was her head where it rested above the collar.

_ Too cute. Way too cute. _

Arthur put his hand on the edge of his desk to steady himself, feeling his cheeks warm-up for the umpteenth time— he was quite sure he had blushed more this past week with her than he had during the entirety of his life before coming to Selphia, and he knew that it was Frey that brought that out of him. She let out an adorable sigh in her sleep.

_ What am I going to do with you?  _ he chuckled.

Ever-so-softly he made his way towards the dresser, changing into his pajamas with painstaking care not to make any noise. He then clicked on the small desk fan he had bought in a recent trade and pointed it at the bedside. 

When he made his way over Arthur lifted up the sheets slowly, and without fully waking Frey, still clad in his coat, shifted with a soft noise, and the blond managed to pull the thin sheets around the two of them as he settled in. Almost immediately (and still asleep) Frey moved to press up against him, resting her head on his chest and curling around him as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs lay strewn around his like puzzle pieces, and she nuzzled into his side.

He curled an arm protectively around her waist— her long, loose hair tickling his forearms— and let the other pinch the bridge of his nose. A shuddering breath escaped him slowly, overcome by how overwhelmingly loving and sweet this woman was even in her sleep.

When Arthur moved to bury his nose against the crown of her head and felt Frey squeeze him, just so, he was sure beyond a doubt that he was the luckiest man alive.


	2. Epilogue

“Soooo?” Margaret was all but leaning forward in her seat, eagerly trying to catch Frey’s gaze. The green-haired princess suddenly found herself very interested in all the instruments that decorated the elf’s home.

“Hm?”

“Sooooo?” She repeated, leaning only forward still. The other women were also eagerly looking in her direction, which left Frey with nowhere to look but at her plate of sweets. “Did it work? Did you get him to go to sleep?” 

“Ah…” Frey hadn’t expected this to be so hard to talk about. Well, despite its sweet, chaste ending she hadn’t expected the night to go the way it had, either— or at least, not Arthur’s reaction.

“It would seem you have to tell us, yes? Dolce spent so long making that nightgown for you, after all?”

“It did take quite some time,” Dolce deadpanned, as if knowing the guilt factor would work.

Frey’s gaze moved between the women around her until finally, face slightly pink, it rested on the flowers in Meg’s hair. She sighed. “Yeah… he liked it a lot. I was able to convince him to go to bed. Actually— we both slept in a few hours longer than usual.”

“What?!”

They seemed to all jolt in some way around her; even Clorica’s eyes were wide and fully awake.

“Frey and Arthur,” Meg spoke again, as if not believing her ears, “the most workaholic couple to have ever existed, slept in? On a weekday?”

When she put it like that, Frey couldn’t help but giggle.

Xiao Pai’s eyes were alight. “Oooh, what did you two get up to?”

“Yes,” Clorica’s calm tone only made it worse. “What made you two so tired?”

“Nothing!” Frey gasped out with a laugh, face still pink.

“Hang in there!”

She looked over to see Amber patting Forte’s back, who was currently choking on her cookie.

“Well,” Meg’s voice lilted out a note that was far too smug. Frey couldn’t help but smile fondly regardless; she loved her friends far too much. “Forget everything else, next time Porco and Dylas need to get Arthur to sleep we’ll just send you on over!”

“You can’t use me to get Arthur to do things.”

“Aw, boo.” Still, the elf’s expression was fond and well-intentioned. “Well, I guess its back to the sleeping-draught in his tea.”

“Margaret!” Frey cried, and all the women around her laughed.

Maybe getting him to sleep next to her more often wasn’t a bad idea.


End file.
